My plenty means another's grievous need. So close we live to margins of despair. So harried by the waiting wolves of care. That others hunger if I over-feed. That others ghastly fail as I succeed. And bend to burdens as I lightly fare. And go in rags with each fine coat I wear. And with each Joy of mine acutely bleed. Not thus, O God! not thus is Thy design. Whose lakes reflect the beauty of the trees. Whose blessings so are mated line by line. As clouds to meadows, mountains to the seas. That all thy creatures at one table dine. And all are blest in brotherly degrees. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOCTURNE IN A DESERTED BRICKYARD by CARL SANDBURG QUATRAIN: SPENDTHRIFT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ANTICLIMAX by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE HILLS OF HOME by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON LINES SUGGESTED BY THE STATUE OF ARNOLD VON WINKELRIED STANZ-UNTERWALDEN by THOMAS CAMPBELL |